


The Boy and the Fox

by Eavenne



Series: Come Home With Me [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Car Accidents, College, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foxes, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kitsune, M/M, Rain, Single Parents, Texas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: In the swaying rain, Alfred met Kiku for the first time.On the same road, he'd rescued a fox ten years ago.
Relationships: America & Canada (Hetalia), America & England (Hetalia), America/Japan (Hetalia)
Series: Come Home With Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792333
Comments: 19
Kudos: 49





	The Boy and the Fox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lycor1128](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycor1128/gifts).



> This fic is part of a series, but you don't need to read the first part to enjoy this (though some of the events do overlap, they don't really spoil each other). Human names are as follows:
> 
> America = Alfred (Al)  
> Canada = Matthew (Mattie)  
> England = Arthur (Artie)  
> Wales = Dylan  
> Japan = Kiku  
> Switzerland = Basch  
> France = Francis  
> Russia = Ivan
> 
> Enjoy!

It was raining when they met for the first time.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy  
  
_

The windshield wipers skidded across the wet windscreen.

Alfred squinted at the wobbly film of rain before him, struggling to peer at the dark road ahead. He shivered – the A/C was too high, it had to be. Alfred jabbed at the controls with his right hand till he felt something click. Good. Maybe the clamminess in his hands would go away in a couple of minutes.

The darkness vanished in a flash of lightning – the tall trees by the road lit up for a brief second, their crooked shadows grasping at the wet tarmac – and then the thunderstorm swallowed the world once more. Alfred’s hands tightened on the wheel.

One month ago, someone from his college had died on this road.

Alfred sucked in a breath. He swatted at his car’s music player, cranking up the volume till the screams of the electric guitar drowned out the hammering of his heart. His hand slipped; the music exploded. Alfred swore colourfully, and frantically turned down the volume.

A short laugh burst from his throat. He didn’t know why he’d laughed, but he laughed harder, rolled his shoulders, and decided to see the absurdity of the situation. “Right,” he muttered, “because one guy dying in a car accident totally means that everyone who drives this way is gonna hit a tree too.” Alfred snorted. “Yeah, right.”

The next song began, and he immediately recognised it as his favourite; any tension that had lingered in his body flooded away as he moved his shoulders to the beat. “Oh, but what if this road is haunted? Guess I’ll have to call the Ghostbusters. Or maybe I’ll defeat the ghost myself. Come at me, ghost!” He laughed. “Hey, it doesn’t have to be a ghost – I’m not picky. One of those creepy hitchhikers would be fine too! You know, those women who look like that chick from The Ring, who ask you to help them and then brutally murder you. I’m sure Mattie would get a kick out of – ”

A lone figure standing by the side of the road, cast entirely in shadow, slowly raised an arm.  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox  
  
_

Alfred didn’t know the guy who’d died.

Of course, he knew _of_ Basch Zwingli. Thanks to a few assholes on the baseball team, everyone knew _of_ Basch Zwingli. The thing was, Alfred thought, no one actually _knew_ Basch Zwingli. And now it was too late. No one would know how it felt to walk down a hallway, see people showing each other things on their phones, and wonder if they were pictures of you. And no one could know how it felt to feel your life slipping away on an empty road from Dallas to Houston, or to breathe your last in the wreckage of your car.

But to Alfred’s father and brother, he might as well have known the dead guy personally. “I heard about what happened, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” said his father, calling from London; “If anyone messes with you like that, you know you can come to me, right?” said his brother, calling from Houston.

“I’m okay,” said Alfred. “Chill! I’m fine.”

But that night, when he laid in bed and closed his eyes, he wondered what dying felt like. He wondered what Basch had thought in his final moments as the rain had engulfed his dying body, wetting his blood-soaked clothes. Had his life flashed before his eyes? Had he called out for someone whom he would never see again?

Ten years ago, Alfred had rescued an injured fox on that very same road.

He wondered what it felt like to be saved.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy  
  
_

His name was Kiku Honda.

“You sure you’re not going to brutally murder me?” said Alfred, as they sped toward Houston. “This is pretty freaking suspicious, you know.”

Despite his mind screaming at him to step on the gas and abandon whatever was standing by the road, Alfred had stopped his car and rolled down his window. A slim, dark-haired Asian guy around his age had stared back at him through the swaying rain, his brown eyes swimming with emotion. Alfred had looked at his leather car seat, looked back at the sopping wet figure, sighed, and gestured for him to get in.

“Why would I hurt you?” said Kiku. His voice was smooth, subdued; it slid over Alfred’s rock music like rainwater.

“I don’t know, because you’re actually a ghost who can’t pass on because of your past regrets, and you’ve decided to take it out on me?” Alfred laughed. “Just kidding. But still – what were you doing out there in the rain alone?”

Kiku didn’t reply. Alfred’s music blared on in the silence between them; he glanced at Kiku, wondered if his music was too loud, and decided that listening to his music was the least that Kiku could do to repay him for destroying his leather car seat. He shrugged. If Kiku wasn’t going to answer him, perhaps he should change the topic. “So, about Houston – ”

“I was waiting for someone.”

“Oh.” Alfred winced. “Tough luck, huh? Guess they didn’t show up.”

“Well,” said Kiku, his voice soft, “ _you_ did.”

When Alfred looked at Kiku, he saw that his eyes were shining with an odd, indescribable emotion. He looked back at the road, but there was something about the way Kiku had looked at him that he just couldn’t shake. His hands tightened on the wheel.

And they sped through the thinning rain into the first patches of dawn.

* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


The first time Alfred had made the drive from Dallas to Houston, he’d gone so slowly that it’d taken him an extra half hour to get there.

He knew he was being silly, since he’d always been a careful driver, but Alfred couldn’t help it. As the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, dragging long shadows across the road and forest, he squinted at the orange light and scanned his surroundings for any sign of someone – or something – in need.

This was where his father had almost run over that fox all those years ago, after all.

In the end, Alfred didn’t come across anyone or anything. It was probably for the best – but after parking in his brother’s dorm’s parking lot, Alfred leaned against the back of his seat and gazed out of the window for a few moments. Idly, he wondered what that fox was doing now. Was it still alive? It’d been nine long years, after all. Did foxes even live that long?

When Alfred saw his brother walking toward him, he grinned, opened the car door, and left his thoughts behind him.

The fox didn’t cross his mind for the rest of that year.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_

The sun was up when they arrived in Houston.

“Where’d you like me to drop you off?” asked Alfred. He yawned – the six-hour drive weighed heavily on his limbs. “Hello? Don’t ignore me, I know you heard what I said.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t – ” They hit a red light, and Alfred turned to face Kiku. The other kid stared back at him, wearing an annoyingly neutral, completely unreadable expression. “You don’t – dude, what’s your deal? Where are you from?”

“Japan.”

Alfred groaned. “Don’t tell me you woke up one day only to find yourself stuck in Texas.”

With a slight tilt of his head, Kiku averted his gaze. “I did.” He rearranged his hands on his lap, and the movement caught Alfred’s eye – Kiku had slim, delicate fingers. “My family was…” he paused for a moment, his eyes distant. “My family was brought here by force.” Kiku took a breath. “So, I woke up one day to find myself in America.”

Alfred froze. “Oh shit,” he said, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know you were – I’m so sorry.” The light shifted to green, and he pulled his gaze away from the person beside him and stepped on the gas. “Should I…when did this happen? I can take you to the police.”

“Don’t worry about it. I arrived years ago.”

“Then…” Alfred frowned. “Who were you waiting for out there in the rain? Where are you going?” They hit another red light and he turned to the person beside him once more, watching him, waiting for some kind of explanation, some kind of indication as to what to do. Even though they’d long since left the rain behind, Alfred felt as if it was still there before him, veiling Kiku’s face, concealing the truth behind a wavering image. “Where should I take you?” he asked again, bending slightly, trying to meet Kiku’s eyes.

But Kiku just bowed his head, retreating into silence.  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


They watched a movie about a woman who was actually a crane.

By the time the credits rolled, Alfred’s brother and father were trying to pretend that they weren’t crying while Alfred bounced restlessly in his place on the couch. “There’s no end credits scene, Dad. Can we start on the pizza yet?” he said.

“No, I want to see who made this film.” Alfred’s father sniffed, furrowing his thick eyebrows. “It’s truly a work of art.”

“It’s dumb,” said Alfred. His brother turned to him with an expression of open-mouthed horror. “Oh, come on, Mattie, accept reality. It _is_ dumb. Saving an animal doesn’t mean that they’ll come back as a hot chick and marry you. If that was actually a thing, everyone would want to be a ranger.”

“But imagine feeling so grateful toward someone that you give up everything to see them again,” said Matthew, his eyes wide. “It’s beautiful. Yeah, it’s fiction, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. You know what I mean?”

Five years ago, Alfred had saved a fox’s life.

“Well,” he said, “something like that can’t ever happen.”  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_  
  


Alfred offered to take Kiku with him, but he refused.

“It’s alright,” he said, staring out of the side window. “I’ve already imposed on you.”

“Mattie is the world’s biggest softie. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Besides, do you even have money?”

“No, it’s really fine. And I do. Thank you, Alfred.”

They drove on, trapped together in a small car stuffed with silence. Whenever Alfred glanced at Kiku, he was staring out of the window or at his feet with that same unreadable expression, and there seemed to be no way of getting anything out of him. Giving up, Alfred was about to raise the music volume once more when Kiku suddenly said, “Can I see you again?”

Alfred blinked. “Wait, like – ” He thought for a moment. “You want me to pick you up when I head back home?”

“If it doesn’t inconvenience you.” Kiku’s voice was quiet.

“I mean…” It wasn’t like Alfred had plans to take anyone else with him. “Okay, why not. Wait, you’re not gonna get to Dallas and then tell me that you have nowhere to go, right?”

Silence.

“Right.” Alfred sighed. “We’ll figure things out when we get there, okay?” He patted Kiku’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna bail on you like that person you were waiting for.”

Little by little, like the first strains of sunlight shining through rainclouds, a faint smile crept onto Kiku’s lips. Something burst to life within his smiling eyes. All at once his entire face – his entire being – seemed to open up, to blossom like a flower. For the first time since Alfred had let him into the car, he seemed truly there, present, alive.

“Thank you,” he said.

Alfred opened his mouth, but his reply slipped from his tongue.  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_

  
“He didn’t believe me!” yelled Alfred.

Matthew sighed. “Don’t listen to Ivan,” he said, standing up and crossing their bedroom to sit beside Alfred. “You know how he is.”

“He called me a liar!” Alfred punched the wall, wincing when his fist made contact with the plaster and quickly changing his expression to pretend nothing had happened. “I bet he’s never helped a single animal in his life. Ivan probably kicks stray dogs on his way to school and burns flies with a magnifying glass on his way home.”

When he heard Matthew giggle, Alfred rounded on his brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair before tickling him relentlessly. “This is what you get for being a traitor!” he said, squeezing his face into an angry expression, but Matthew’s breathless laughter quickly wore him down and he dissolved into helpless giggling as well.

Once the laughter was finally out of their systems, Matthew tapped Alfred, meeting his eyes. “Al, it doesn’t matter that Ivan doesn’t believe you,” he said. “What matters is that you did a good thing. Because of you, an animal got to keep living. That’s what’s most important.”

A smile crept onto Alfred’s face. “Yeah,” he said. Lightly, he punched his brother’s arm. “Thanks, Mattie.”

“And besides,” said Matthew, his eyes gentle, “I’m sure Chrysanthemum remembers you.”  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_

  
The sky was dark when they reached Dallas.

Alfred had been gorging himself on his shared birthday cake when, suddenly, he’d realised that he had no way of contacting Kiku. For the next hour, he’d roped his brother into checking phone directories and scrolling through social media pages with him. They’d squinted at the tiny print, laughed at questionable Facebook posts, and discovered with some amusement that “Kiku” was usually a girl’s name.

But there’d been no sign of the rain-soaked figure whom Alfred had met.

In the end, Alfred had been standing helplessly by his car the next day when Kiku had stepped out from behind him out of nowhere, as if he’d been hiding in Alfred’s shadow the entire time.

As a result, Alfred had spent most of the six-hour drive wondering how Kiku had found him. “Dude, how did you pull that off?” he’d asked, but Kiku had just smiled a half-smile and hidden his feelings behind the impassive mask of his face. It was something, Alfred had come to realise, that Kiku did often. He’d tilt his head, fold his hands neatly over his lap, and keep his emotions locked behind the blink of his eyelids and the line of his lips.

“I want to see your true smile again,” Alfred had wanted to say.

But he’d swallowed the words before they could be spoken.

“So,” said Alfred instead as they hit the roads of Dallas, “I’m gonna ask again, just to be sure. You don’t have anywhere to go, right?”

“I suppose not.”

“Okay.” A truck abruptly cut in front of Alfred. He swore at it, took a breath, and said, “So, my dad’s currently stuck in London. He’s gonna be there for – well, he’ll be there till Grandpa kicks the bucket, and who knows when that’ll be. Mattie’s staying at a dorm in Houston. He was supposed to be home for the summer, but he had to do hockey stuff, so he won’t be home till winter break. Yeah, so, anyway…”

He hesitated. His heartbeat, light and quick, fluttered in his chest, and his right index finger tapped the steering wheel with a fast, relentless rhythm. He glanced at Kiku, who was watching him with rapt attention, his body completely still, some barely restrained emotion swimming in his dark eyes.

Alfred swallowed.

“Do you want to stay with me?”  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


Ignored by an angry Matthew, Alfred fell asleep with fresh tears in his eyes.

He woke to find himself alone in a field of rippling grass, the only person in an ocean of green. “Dad?” he called, “Mattie?” His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He tore through the grass, gasping for breath, ripping at long green blades as the world wobbled in a haze of tears. For a moment he thought he saw Matthew standing before him, his blond hair tossed about by the howling wind and pounding rain – “Mattie!” cried Alfred, running toward his brother, but his hands closed around air and the ground swerved toward his face and he fell.

Alfred couldn’t breathe. “Don’t go.” He couldn’t move. “Please don’t leave me.” The wind screamed at him. He pressed his knees to his chest. “Please.” He was completely alone. “Come back.” No one came back. “Dad, Mattie – ”

Something soft brushed the back of his hand.

“Chr – Chrysanthemum.” Alfred struggled to an upright position. “It’s you.” The fox looked at him, its brown eyes bright and alert. “It’s really you.” It climbed swiftly into his arms, rested its upper legs on his shoulders, and gently nudged his face. “You’re back.” He curled his fingers into its thick orange coat. “You came back.” He pulled it against him and buried his face in its fur. “I’ve missed you so much.” He took a shuddering breath and felt its familiar scent wash over him. Silently, the dark clouds parted to reveal the sun.  
Fresh tears slipped down his face with the falling rain.

Even in the dream, its small body, breathing in Alfred’s arms, was as warm he remembered.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_  
  


Kiku’s presence turned everything on its head.

In the past month, Alfred would stagger out of bed at five in the morning to make breakfast for himself before baseball practice, where he’d resume his Cold War with half of the team. Afterward, he’d loiter somewhere on campus, studying or chatting or just aimlessly walking around, surrounding himself with nameless faceless people so he wouldn’t have to think about the empty house that awaited his return. Eventually, he’d trudge home as the sun sank beneath the horizon, stopping somewhere to pick up his fast food dinner. At night, he’d recline in bed and call his overseas friends, father, and brother. Then he’d imagine how great it’d be if he could open his eyes the next morning to a bright August day.

Everything changed after Kiku’s arrival.

For the first time in years, Alfred opened his bedroom door to the warm, delicious smell of bacon frying on the pan. He crossed the living room, heard his name being called by a gentle voice, and was greeted in the kitchen by a pair of calm brown eyes.

“I hope you like it,” said Kiku. “I had to use the cookbook that I saw on the table over there, since I’m not familiar with this dish.” He gestured at it. “There wasn’t much in the refrigerator that I could use. If it’s not any inconvenience, could I trouble you to go to the supermarket later on your way home?”

Wide-eyed, blinking rapidly, Alfred let himself fall against the countertop. “Holy shit,” he breathed. Something was stuck in his throat. “I – ” His eyes stung. “I can’t – oh my god. You’re – you’re amazing, Kiku.” He looked away, and saw the dinner table; remembered sitting there with his father and his brother, talking about his day, complaining about the food. They were miles away now, their warmth vanishing with their disappearing backs –

“I’m glad you like it,” said Kiku with a small smile, and Alfred felt as if he’d finally come home after a long, long day.

That afternoon he flew from baseball practice to the nearest mall. Alfred walked down the aisle at the grocery store, squinting at the list that Kiku had given him, piling shallots and eggs and rice into his shopping cart. Back home he offered his help in the kitchen, and violently sliced bacon for a few minutes before Kiku snatched the knife away.

An hour later, Kiku slid a bowl of fried rice toward him. “It’s a bit soggy,” he said, scrunching up his face slightly, but the pepper popped on Alfred’s tongue and his breathing quickened. While he took his second spoonful, resisting the urge to hoover up the rest of the food, Kiku continued his apologetic commentary. “I couldn’t find a pan big enough for me to toss the rice,” he said, “so I hope you’ll forgive the – ”

“This is literally the best thing I’ve eaten in years,” said Alfred, his mouth stuffed with food.

Kiku tilted his head. “Sorry?”

Alfred swallowed. “This is amazing,” he said. “Like, seriously. And don’t ever apologise for your food. I grew up eating whatever my dad cooked and, well…you know the stuff they say about British food? It’s all true. Dad can’t cook to save his life.”

Tension seemed to trickle out of Kiku’s body; the faintest traces of a smile appeared on his lips, and a restrained warmth flickered in his eyes. “I’m glad you like it.” He silently placed his palms together, said something in what was probably Japanese, and bowed his head a fraction. Only then, observed Alfred, did Kiku finally turn to his food.

It seemed that meals really did taste better with company.  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


The magazine made a loud plastic sound as Alfred’s father flipped through it.

“What about a beagle?” he said. When Alfred stared at his food in silence, his father continued, “We can name it Darjeeling, to keep with this tea theme you came up with. A sheepdog would be nice, too. You know, I used to have a sheepdog. Named it Francis, after a boy I knew. It resembled him. Oh! I know what we should get. A foxhound. You know, a _fox_ …hound?”

Alfred glared at his father.

“Um, Dad…” Matthew’s voice was quiet. “I don’t think Al wants a dog.”

Alfred’s father sucked in a breath, and placed the magazine on the table. “Alright,” he said. “It was a brave, kind thing that you did, Alfred. I know you miss Chrysanthemum. I do too. But – ”

“No, you don’t.”

The chair scraped angrily on the floor as Alfred’s father rose to his feet. “That’s it,” he said, drawing himself to his full height, looking down at Alfred with narrowed eyes. “You’ve been mouthing off to your brother and I for the past two days. Enough is enough, Alfred Franklin – ”

Alfred threw his fork on the table, sprang from his chair, and darted toward his room.

He dove beneath the covers. Distantly, he heard the muffled voices of his father and brother, so he clamped his hands over his ears and twisted in his sheets till the noise dissolved into silence. His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut, but the stinging wouldn’t go away.

The fox gazed at him from the depths of his memories.

It had hesitated, when he’d told it to go. It had looked at him, its eyes shining, as if it were struggling to understand why it had to leave. The sunlight, filtering through the leaves, had danced on its orange fur; the wind, thick with the earthy smell of the forest, had tugged at the whiskers on its snout. It had walked away, lingered, looked back at Alfred – and then, at long last, continued into the trees.

When the fox had finally melted into the forest, it was as if it’d never been there at all.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_

  
July sailed by like a leaf in a river.

Little by little, Alfred adjusted to what he figured was Kiku’s Japanese-ness. He learned to shower before him, for Kiku could soak in the bathtub for an entire hour. He learned to get out of Kiku’s way when he was cleaning, for the last time he’d disturbed his housemate, Kiku had ended up cleaning the entire kitchen again the next day since he “didn’t remember where he’d left off and wanted to be sure”.

In addition, Alfred had made a list of what he called “Kiku-isms” – a compilation of Kiku’s quirks which he read to the person himself. “You say yes when you actually mean no,” he said, pacing the room, “You’re polite even when I walk in on you changing, you reply to every question in the vaguest way possible, and when I tried to hug you, you hit me in the face.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred!” Kiku’s eyes were wide. “It has – it has been a long time, and I don’t usually like being hugged, and you came out of nowhere…”

Walking toward Kiku and flopping beside him on the couch, Alfred looked at him with a grin. “You’re weird, you know that?”

“I’m…weird?” An odd expression fell over Kiku’s face like a shadow. He averted his eyes. “I…see.” His hands, which were clasped on his lap, tightened.

“Hey, it’s not a bad weird,” said Alfred, leaning toward Kiku, trying to meet his eyes. “It’s just – different, you know, having you around.” He laughed. “Besides – I like weird.”

Something softened in Kiku’s eyes. His face brightened slightly, as if the morning sun had fallen upon his skin. “You like weird?” he asked, inclining his head to meet Alfred’s gaze.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m pretty weird myself,” said Alfred, shifting closer to Kiku. “If you think about it, my background’s kinda unusual.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup. So, my dad’s actually British. His dad, a rich business guy, came here as an expat. Dad has a few brothers, but they all stayed in the UK with their mom, so he was basically alone.” Alfred swung one leg over the other. “He had Mattie and I when he was sixteen. The girl bailed, so Dad got stuck with us. Grandpa wanted him to give us up for adoption, but Dad refused, so Grandpa disowned and disinherited him and moved back to London.” Alfred glanced at Kiku; he was listening intently, his body angled toward Alfred. “Luckily, my uncles were all already working, so they helped us out quite a bit. One of them moved to Houston for work, so we saw him once a month – he’s in Wales now, though. But, yeah. Dad raised us by himself. Skipped college, and everything.”

“I see.”

“We were pretty poor at first, even with the support. Dad was working three jobs. Then we got lucky. Dad was cleaning floors for a tea company, and one of the bosses found out about his extensive knowledge of tea, so he got promoted. Couple of years later, Dad was in that guy’s paygrade.” Alfred laughed. “After that, we were pretty comfortable. Not rich, but you know. Dad stayed in the company till a year ago, when Grandpa had a stroke.”

“Ah – they reconciled?”

“Nah,” said Alfred. “Grandpa wanted his kids to take care of him, but no one wanted to, since he’s such a prick. So, he called Dad, saying that if Dad became his caretaker, he’d support us, hire Dad, and write Dad back into his will. Mattie and I were seniors and Dad didn’t have enough for our college fees, so he flew back to London. Then we both got sports scholarships, which kinda defeats the purpose of the whole thing, but Dad’s still there. Probably has to do with the will.”

“You must miss him,” said Kiku, his voice quiet. He gazed at Alfred, a strange warmth swimming in his eyes; though he hadn’t moved, he seemed to be reaching out, as if something within him was transcending the shell of his body to take Alfred’s hand.

Alfred swallowed. “I – ” He’d never said this to anyone. He looked at Kiku, met his brown eyes, and let their gentleness wash over him like rain. “I hate this.”

Kiku tilted his head. “Why?”

“I’ve – ” Something throbbed painfully in Alfred’s chest. “I’ve just been taking, and taking, this entire time. Dad sacrificed everything for us. I didn’t know that when I was a kid.” He blinked, hard. “I took everything for granted. I was – I was such a dick to him sometimes, you know?”

“You were a child.”

Alfred stared at his feet. “I know. It’s just that – now he’s stuck in London with his asshole dad, trying to get back in his good books, because of us. I mean – ” A dry laugh forced itself from his throat. “He’s not doing this for himself, I know it. Even if he gets back into the will, he’s probably just gonna buy some nice tea or whatever and invest everything else. It’s all gonna go to us. It’s always gone to us.” His eyes burned. “He always made it seem so easy. But he was a single teenage dad, for fuck’s sake, and his dad literally disowned him. It must have been – ”

He let his head fall into his hands, and didn’t continue.

The couch squeaked. Alfred heard Kiku move closer to him, felt Kiku’s warm hand settle on his shoulder. “Alfred,” he said, his voice soft, “have you ever talked to your father about this?”

Alfred shook his head.

“Perhaps you should,” said Kiku. His fingers tightened on Alfred’s shoulder. “He’s still here,” he said, “Even if he’s far away. You still have time to say it.”

“To say…?”

“To say thank you,” said Kiku.

For the first time in years, tears rolled down Alfred’s cheeks.  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


Slowly, hesitantly, the fox poked its nose out of the carrier.

Alfred swallowed. He looked at the ranger squatting by the fox, and wondered if she could tell what it was thinking. Why wasn’t it running toward the freedom of the trees? Surely the grass and the sky before it were more familiar than the cold grey plastic at its back. Surely it couldn’t wait to be reunited with its family, wherever they were.

The leaves whispered in the summer breeze. Moving with an odd delicacy, the fox placed a tentative paw on the forest floor. It made a small sound, as if it were startled; turned its head, its eyes darting quickly about, almost as if it were searching for something, for someone. The fox took a small step.

Then it raised its head, looked directly at Alfred, and ran toward him.

Matthew cried out. Alfred’s father grabbed them and pulled them away, but Alfred wriggled out of his grip and rushed toward the fox and threw his arms around its neck. “I’m here, Chrysanthemum,” he said, “I’m here,” and the fox seemed to understand him, seemed to lean into his embrace, to rest its snout on his shoulder. Alfred looked up. His uncle and the ranger were talking to each other, their faces stern. A hand settled on his shoulder; he heard his father say something to him, but his voice was distant, unintelligible.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut.

But even as the fox’s heartbeat drummed against his chest, he knew what he had to do.

“You have to go,” he said. His hands, closing around the fox’s middle, trembled. “I’m sorry.” He pulled it away from him and set it on the ground. “We can’t stay together. I mean, you’re – you’re a fox!” It tilted its head. “You belong to the earth, and the river, and the trees. You’re not – you’re not mine to keep.”

Alfred’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Bye, Chrysanthemum.”  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_  
  


For some reason, Kiku didn’t want to leave the house.

When Alfred asked him about it, he said, “I like it in here.”

Alfred frowned. “You won’t even go shopping with me?” But when Kiku bowed his head and apologised, he sighed and accepted that day’s grocery list. That day he wandered the aisles of the Japanese minimart, looking from item to item, wondering what Kiku’s deal was. Why was he in Dallas? What was he planning to do? Where was he planning to go?

Who had he been waiting for, on that rainy morning when the clouds had suffocated the stars?

Back at home, though, things were good. There was something calm about Kiku, something soothing, that Alfred loved. He was like waves lapping against the sand, like rain pattering against a window. When Alfred looked into those brown eyes, all his frustrations would slip away, rolling off him like water. Yet those same eyes were veils for Kiku’s true thoughts, hiding the truth with their delicate movements.

Though Alfred could rarely tell what Kiku was thinking, he still did what he could. He found out that Kiku liked being barefoot at home, and cleaned the floor; he looked for comfortable clothes that Kiku could wear at home, and bought him pyjamas; he tracked down a Japanese minimart, and bought Japanese ingredients. The gifts were accepted with two slim hands, a small smile, and Japanese politeness – and the next time Alfred came home, he’d be greeted by Kiku wearing the new clothes or a fresh bowl of deliciously cold ramen.

Every night, they sat together at the dining table, eating Kiku’s newest creation. Alfred talked about his day, Kiku listened, and at the end of it all Alfred realised he still didn’t know much about the person who slept in his house, who cooked his food.

“Who’s that person you were waiting for, back when we met?” he’d asked, more times than he could remember.

But Kiku would only shake his head, avert his gaze, and walk in the other direction.

Did Alfred actually know anything about Kiku? He liked tea, for Alfred had seen him reading one of Alfred’s father’s books on the subject, his eyes searching and intent. He had something against American food, for he’d hesitated for a full five seconds when Alfred had asked him to try a colourful cake he’d brought home. When they watched horror movies together – Alfred’s old favourites, which ended with the hero saving the day – Kiku was completely unflappable. Yet, on one occasion, he’d turned to Alfred with a comment.

“Your movies are like you,” he’d said, and Alfred hadn’t quite known what to think.

So, they carried on, brushing shoulders in the cool hallways.  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


The day had finally come.

Alfred’s uncle drove them there. “Now, Artie,” he said, “If you ever see an injured fox again – or a racoon, skunk, bat or coyote, for that matter – you know what to do, right?”

“Oh, give it a rest, Dylan,” said Alfred’s father. “I get it.”

They hit a red light. “Well, little hero?” said Alfred’s uncle, twisting in the driver’s seat to look at him. “What are you going to do the next time you happen upon an injured fox?”

“Take it home,” said Alfred, glaring out of the backseat window. The scenery had been flashing by in patches of brown and green – it was going by too fast, too soon. He looked down; his fingers curled on his lap. “Keep it, and play with it.”

Alfred’s uncle laughed. “That’s clean off,” he said. “No, don’t keep it, and definitely don’t play with it. Do _you_ know what to do with an injured fox, Matthew?”

“Don’t touch it, and call the SPCA,” said Matthew. Alfred elbowed his brother. “Foxes are high-risk rabies vector species. Their saliva is dangerous.”

“Good kid.”

Alfred turned back to the backseat window with a huff. His legs were cold; he bumped his knees against each other, rubbing his hands on his thighs. For the second time in the past minute, he looked down at his lap.

When the fox was lying there, Alfred had been so warm.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_  
  


Some things, it seemed, would never change.

“I don’t know why I was even surprised,” said Alfred to Kiku, as the credits rolled on their second horror movie of the night. He sighed. “Only one guy got suspended. One guy, out of half the baseball team. Someone literally died, and they cared so much about their baseball win streak that they only suspended one guy.”

“Someone died?”

Alfred stared at the floor. “Yeah. Crashed on the way to Houston.” He sighed. “It wasn’t directly related to those assholes who fucked with him. But you don’t make that drive at one freaking a.m. unless something’s seriously wrong, you know?”

Though Kiku inclined his head in agreement, he remained silent. Something stirred in his eyes, and he gazed at Alfred, opening his mouth as if he had something to say – but the moment rippled slowly away. Kiku bowed his head and shifted on the couch, retreating into himself once more.

Something occurred to Alfred.

“Hey, Kiku,” he said. Kiku turned toward him – Alfred gazed into the depths of his brown eyes, looked away, looked back, and said, “What happened to your family?”

For a few moments, Kiku was completely silent.

Then he looked at his hands, took a breath, and said, “I don’t know.”

Alfred moved closer to him. “You don’t know?”

“We were…separated.” Kiku spoke slowly, his eyes distant, as though he were struggling to remember something that had happened to him a long time ago. “We lost each other. I was alone for a – for a long, long time.” He closed his eyes, took a shaky breath, and opened them. “They’re – they’re probably…”

Kiku’s hand, when Alfred reached out and took it, was trembling.

He squeezed it. “Hey.” Kiku looked at him, his eyes swimming with emotion. “You don’t know that. They could still be out there. And you’re not gonna be alone anymore.” He grinned. “I’m here.”

Something changed in Kiku’s expression. It was as if sunlight had stolen onto his face, little by little, inch by inch, till the darkness had crumbled quietly away. He placed his hand over Alfred’s, curling his slim fingers around Alfred’s palm. “I know,” he said. “I know you’re here, Alfred.” His eyes were shining. “It makes me so…happy. To know that you’re right here, holding my hand. It’s been so long, and I’ve – ”

Whatever Kiku wanted to say seemed to catch on his tongue.

“I’ve – ”

He looked away, took a breath, and closed his eyes.

“There was someone who saved me, many years ago. He helped me, when I had no one. He took me from the darkness, and brought me into the light.”

Something cold and unpleasant twisted in Alfred’s gut.

“Alfred,” said Kiku softly, “You…remind me so much of him.”  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_

  
They walked past enclosure after enclosure.

“Chrysanthemum is quite the oddball,” said the worker. She took a left turn, and led Alfred and his father down a wide pathway. “He likes water, which is highly unusual for a red fox. The other day, I saw him sitting in his drinking water. Maybe he was taking a bath?”

“That’s because he’s a _smart_ fox,” said Alfred.

The worker laughed. “He’s a smart one, I’ll give you that.” She walked in front of a huge rectangular mesh wire enclosure, stopped, and turned to face them. “He’s in here.” She smiled, and looked at the enclosure, saying, “Chrysanthemum, come say hi!”

Alfred took a step forward, and peered in. Two foxes were wandering about, their orange coats melting into the yellow hay. One seemed to be resting, its snout sitting on its fluffy tail, its eyes closed. And the last one –

It stopped before him, raised its head, and gazed at him with calm brown eyes.

A wide grin spread across Alfred’s face. “Hey, Chrysanthemum!” The fox bumped its tail on the ground. “You look great.” He raised his hands to pet it through the wire mesh, felt his father’s eyes on him, and let his arms fall. “It’s me, Alfred!” He laughed. “Do you remember me?”

The fox sidled up to the mesh wire, sat down, and inclined its head to meet his eyes.

Alfred didn’t know how long he talked for. He flopped to the ground in front of the fox, and told it about his uncle scolding them for carrying it to Houston themselves; about Matthew choosing to hang out at his uncle’s vet clinic over coming to visit it. He talked about how they’d come here in the first place because his uncle was getting married; about the yummy cake they’d had there. He complained about his father’s food – which earned him a laugh from the worker – but praised his father’s tea.

“I named you after my favourite tea, actually!” said Alfred. “I love chrysanthemum tea. It smells great, and tastes delicious.” He made a face. “I could tell that Mattie thought it was lame, but _he's_ lame, so I don’t care what he thinks.”

The fox looked at him, tilted its head, and listened.

Eventually, though, Alfred had to go. He said goodbye, walked away, and looked back at the fox once more. It stayed there, watching him – it hadn’t moved an inch and its body was completely still, as if it didn’t understand why he had to leave and was wondering if he would come back. The other foxes wandered about behind it, but it sat there, gazing at Alfred. Though it was with others of its kind, it seemed completely alone.

Something stung in Alfred’s eyes.

“Dad,” he said, as his father led him to the exit, “Can we keep Chrysanthemum?”

“We can’t.”

Alfred scrunched up his face. “Why not?”

“He’s a wild animal. He should be left free, to roam the forests,” said his father. “I’m not even sure if it’s legal to keep foxes here. And you know Uncle Dylan would have my head if we kept him.”

“But – ” The memory of the fox’s eyes, bright and alert, swam before Alfred’s eyes. “But Chrysanthemum came to me. Chrysanthemum was listening to me. You saw that, right? He – he wants to stay with me. That’s what he wants. Shouldn’t we keep him?”

His father stopped walking.

Confused, Alfred watched as his father led him to the side of the path, turned to face him, and bent so that they were at eye level. “Alfred,” he said, his voice gentle, “Would you imagine something for me?”

Alfred stared into his father’s green eyes. “Okay.”

“Imagine being born in a…large, beautiful mansion.” His father shifted. “You’re free to go wherever you want, whenever you want, as long as you stay in the mansion.” He paused. “Matthew and I live in the mansion too. You don’t see us all the time, but you know that you can find us there. The mansion…can be dangerous sometimes, but you were born to live there, and you know how to avoid trouble.”

Alfred swallowed.

“One day, you’re…passing the window, when you trip and fall out,” said his father. “Luckily, someone saves you. You recover.” He fell silent for a moment. “But they take you to their house…which is tiny and plain and nothing like the mansion where you grew up. They lock the door so you can’t get out. Now you only have that person for company. You can’t roam the beautiful mansion where you grew up. You can’t see Matthew or I, even though we’re still there waiting for you.”

“But – ” Something clenched painfully in Alfred’s chest. “But it’s not – it’s not the same, Dad. We’re not trapping Chrysanthemum, we’re – ”

His father cupped his cheek with a palm. “Alfred,” he said, “You know better.”

Alfred’s eyes burned. “I – ” He remembered how warm the fox had been, lying on his lap as they sped toward Houston. “I – ” He remembered the way the fox had looked at him as he’d talked to it, as the hours had flown by.

“Chrysanthemum belongs to the earth, and the river, and the trees,” said his father. He met Alfred’s eyes, ruffled his hair, and pulled him into a tight hug. “He’s not yours to keep.”

And the world dissolved in a haze of tears.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_  
  


They were watching an anime when Alfred’s phone rang.

“Dad’s coming down next Thursday,” said Alfred, settling back into the couch.

“I see. That’s good. Is he coming here?”

“Nah, he’s going to Houston. I’ll be meeting him and Mattie there this weekend.” Alfred rolled his shoulders, leaned back, and looked at Kiku. “It’s easier if we meet in Houston, because Mattie doesn’t drive. And apparently, Dad’s been talking to one of his old school friends, this high school English teacher who lives there. So, he has somewhere to stay. But it’s mostly because he wants to go to Mattie’s match on Friday.” Alfred reached between them, picked up the remote, and hit play.

The days crawled by. Alfred wandered the mall, trying to find something for his father and not knowing what to get. When Kiku suggested that he crochet a tea cosy, Alfred leaped on the idea – he returned the next evening with a teapot, crochet hooks, and colourful balls of yarn.

They sat on the couch together. Squinting at a YouTube video, they picked up their hooks and jabbed at the yarn. Alfred’s fingers, too used to gripping a baseball bat, were stiff; he glanced at Kiku, and felt a little lighter when he saw that Kiku clearly wasn’t an instant expert either. Hours later, their new-born creations wobbled on the low table before them. Alfred poked Kiku’s disturbingly flat tea cosy, watched it fall over, and laughed. Kiku smiled, and Alfred thought that it was like the sun had risen on his face.

For the first few nights, they crocheted quietly. Grasshoppers buzzed outside, crying out as the summer heat retreated into the earth; traditional Japanese music floated from Alfred’s laptop, washing over him in a cool, soothing wave. He laughed easily, and frequently – how couldn’t he, when they were creating such abominations – and one day Kiku laughed too, softly, delicately, like a tinkling bell. Something stirred within Alfred’s chest.

When Kiku’s laughter rang out in his dreams, it was still the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

But as the nights dragged on and his fingers began to ache, Alfred’s smile died on his lips. He stabbed at the yarn, narrowed his eyes at it, swore at his fingers for being so fat and disobedient. When Kiku finally managed to recreate what they’d seen in the video, Alfred looked down at his own creation, which was bunched up and lumpy. He sighed, put down his hook, and said, “I give up. I’m literally meeting him tomorrow. There’s no time.”

Rain pattered on the windows. Kiku’s brows creased slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Alfred let himself fall against the couch, and turned his head to stare at the darkness outside. “It’s not gonna happen.”

The foam squeaked. In the corner of his eye, Alfred saw Kiku stand up and head toward the kitchen. The rain fell more heavily now, pelting the windows, soaking the grass – Alfred wondered whether he’d taken the laundry in, remembered that he’d done so the day before, and tried to relax on the couch. Distantly, he heard the hiss of the faucet, and then the metallic sound of the kettle filling with water.

A minute later, Kiku sat down beside him again. “I think you should still give it to him,” he said. “You put your heart into it, after all. You’re still trying to say thank you.”

“Thank you, huh,” said Alfred. He looked at Kiku. “Hey, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes?”

“There’s someone you want to thank, isn’t there?”

For a few long moments, Kiku stared at Alfred, his body completely still. His face was blank, carefully so, as if he’d painted over it – he seemed to be hiding behind the silence that he was enforcing, behind the distance between them on the couch.

“There is,” he said quietly.

The rain roared overhead.

Alfred folded his arms. “Who is it?” He remembered the day they’d met – remembered Kiku’s slight figure in the swaying rain, remembered the emotion in his brown eyes when they’d looked at each other for the first time. “Is it that person you’re waiting for?” That person – that mysterious, shadowed, invisible person, that person whom Kiku clung to as if he’d hung the stars. “Who is he?” Alfred’s hands tightened on his arms. “Why won’t you tell me?”

Lightning whipped at the living room, throwing a frightening shadow over Kiku’s features. “Alfred.” His face was white. “I can’t.”

“You can’t _what_?”

“I can’t – I can’t tell you.” Kiku gripped the seat of the couch, twisting the leather with his fingers. “I just _can’t_.” His voice was brittle.

“Why?” Alfred was breathing quickly, his heart pounding. He sprang to his feet. “Why can’t you explain yourself? You can at least tell me that, right?” His throat was dry. “It’s been two months. You’ve been here for two whole fucking months. Don’t you – don’t you trust me?”

“No, I – ” The room exploded with light once more, and the bellowing storm drowned out Kiku’s words. He stared at the floor, his shoulders heaving, and said, “It would destroy everything. If I told you, I – I’d have to leave. I wouldn’t be able to stay.”

It felt like the floor had fallen out beneath Alfred’s feet.

“You – ” His eyes burned. “You – ” His throat ached. “You think I’d – I’d _throw you out_?” The room swayed before him; Alfred stumbled where he stood, throwing out an arm to steady himself. “After all this time, after – after everything, you think I’d – I’d – ”

Kiku scrambled to his feet. “No, that’s not what I – ” His voice broke. “That’s not what I meant – please, you have to understand, I really can’t tell you, it would destroy _everything_ , it would ruin _everything_ , I – ”

But the shriek of the kettle shredded Kiku’s voice.

It screamed on, undisturbed, even as Kiku gave Alfred one last wide-eyed look and hurried away. It screamed, and screamed, and Alfred collapsed onto the couch and pressed his knees against his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, but it was still screaming –

And then there was silence.

Alfred opened his eyes. His phone screen was bright. He reached for it. He had thirteen missed calls, all from the same person. He thumbed through a few screens, held his phone to his ear, and waited. There was a click.

“Al.” Matthew’s voice was shaking. “Dad had a heart attack.”  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


The sun was up when they arrived in Houston.

Feebly, the fox stirred on Alfred’s lap. “Shh, Chrysanthemum,” he said, stroking its fur. “Don’t move, you’ll hurt yourself.” It looked up at him, its eyes shining, and a lump formed in Alfred’s throat.

“Are we there yet, Dad?” he asked, looking at his father.

“Nearly.” His father’s knuckles were white. He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “We’re nearly there, Alfred. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Alfred sucked in a breath, turned to the fox, and scratched its ears. “Dad says we’re nearly there, Chrysanthemum.” He tried to smile. “It’s gonna be okay. It won’t hurt soon. Just a little longer.”

Silently, the fox laid its head on his lap and closed its eyes.

Hours seemed to crawl by before they finally reached the clinic. As the fox was moved, it raised its head to catch his eye – he nodded at it, attempting a smile, and it disappeared from his view. For a few moments, Alfred stared blankly at the cardboard container as his uncle walked away. Then a strange, jittery feeling surged through his body, and he leaned out of the car: “Will he be okay?” he yelled, as his uncle vanished into the clinic.

“Your uncle’s a great vet, Alfred,” said his father as the glass doors swung closed. “Chrysanthemum will be fine.” He patted Alfred’s back. “You did a great thing today. I’m proud of you.” His lips curved in a small smile. “Good job.”

Alfred met his father’s eyes, unbuckled his seatbelt, and leapt into his embrace.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_  
  


Kiku blocked the door.

The swollen storm roared behind him, the downpour lashing at the grass and hammering the ground. “Don’t go,” said Kiku, his voice tight. He looked at Alfred, his eyes shining. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Get out of my way.” Alfred’s hands were trembling. “Now.”

“You can go tomorrow,” said Kiku, taking a step forward, reaching for Alfred’s hand, clasping it between his own. “Please.” An unidentifiable emotion struggled in his eyes. “We can go back in, and drink the tea that I made, and wait for the storm to blow itself out.” He took a shaky breath. “Your father survived. He’s young. Yes, there were complications, but – ”

“He’s my _father_.” Alfred’s entire body was shaking. He wrenched his hand from Kiku’s grasp. “I’m going. Get out of my way.”

Kiku shook his head, and shifted where he stood. “Alfred – ”

“If it was _your_ father,” shouted Alfred, “You’d do the same thing, so shut up and get out of my fucking way!”

The silence was drowned out by the pouring rain.

“My father,” said Kiku, his eyes cold, “is _dead_.”

An icy, disgusting feeling twisted in Alfred’s chest. He looked at Kiku, who stood there motionlessly, and opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find the words. He pushed past Kiku, went down the steps, and stumbled to his car. The cold rain slid down his neck, soaking his clothes. He shivered.

Alfred didn’t hear Kiku move.

But when he slammed the car door shut, Kiku was sitting by his side. “I’ll go with you,” he said. He didn’t look at Alfred.

They flew through the roads and onto the highway. The windshield wipers flung themselves across the glass, clearing the view for a fleeting moment before the rain pounded down yet again. The road was dark, and the sky was dark, and the world was dark. Alfred couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. So much had happened so quickly that now everything was flashing by in a blur. His eyes ached from holding back tears. His pounding heart battered at his chest. He was okay. Everything was going to be okay. He would get to Houston, see his father, and it would be okay. He would apologise to Kiku, and they would be okay. It was going to be okay. It had to be okay. It couldn’t not be okay. It –

The tyres screamed and the car spun into the darkness.  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


It was a fox.

Alfred swallowed. His gaze immediately fell on the hind leg bent in the wrong direction – he winced, looked away, and took in the drenched orange fur and the half-open eyes. He squatted beside the fox. “Hey,” he said. It didn’t respond. Yet Alfred could see the rise and fall of its belly, so it had to be alive, it had to. “Dad,” he said, turning to look at his father, “He’s hurt.”

Relentlessly, the rain continued to fall.

The fox stirred when Alfred lifted it to get in the car. It made a small, scratchy whimpering sound deep within its throat, and raised its head slightly as if it was trying to look at him. “Shh,” said Alfred, taking a shaky breath, slowing his movements. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

It looked at him, its eyes shining, and something clenched painfully in Alfred’s chest.

They raced toward Houston. Alfred heard his father and brother speaking with his uncle over the phone, but their voices seemed miles away. The rain hammered at the car, the storm growled overhead, and the dark clouds smothered the stars. Leaning over the fox, Alfred threw its half-awake body into even deeper shadow, but sometimes its eyes would open. They glittered in the blackness and lingered on his face. They seemed to study him, to watch him. Alfred blinked, looked away, looked back, and suddenly understood.

The fox was staring at him the way a hurt kid stared at his friend.

“Hey,” whispered Alfred. “If I talk, will you listen?”

It met his eyes, and tilted its head.

So, Alfred talked. He remembered the stories his father murmured in his ear when he woke from bad dreams, the stories of knights and dragons and princesses, and repeated them in a hushed voice. He remembered the stories he’d seen on television, the stories of superheroes saving the day, and told them again. He turned to Matthew, asked for ideas, and cobbled new stories together on the spot. He ran out of steam, listened to his father’s suggestion, and talked about his own experiences instead.

The fox shifted, laid its head on his lap, and listened.

“You know,” said Alfred, “I should give you a name.”

The rain, lighter now, danced on the car roof. Alfred looked at the fox, ran his fingers through its orange fur, and thought of the last time he’d been sick. He’d tossed from nightmare to nightmare, screaming for help, and had woken to two pairs of concerned eyes and a steaming cup of tea. It was his favourite kind of tea. It smelt of flowers and tasted like home.

“Chrysanthemum,” whispered Alfred.

And they sped through the thinning rain into the first patches of dawn.  
  


* * *

  
_The Boy_  
  


The light burned his eyelids.

“Alfred,” whispered someone.

Slowly, stiffly, Alfred opened his eyes. He blinked. A pair of brown eyes looked back at him. Something wet hit his cheek. The person was crying. He tried to take a breath, to ask the person why he was crying, but his voice died in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” Fresh tears slid down the person’s cheeks. “I should have known. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Alfred’s throat was dry. He tried to swallow, and couldn’t. With effort, he looked away from the person bending over him. It was raining, lightly, the water gently sinking into the soil. But he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel his body.

Oh.

So, this was what dying felt like.

“I’m going to make things right,” said the person. “I’m going to save you.” He smiled. It was a strange, shattered expression. “You can just – just forget I was ever here. Pretend our time together was a dream. A beautiful…dream.”

Something stirred in the depths of Alfred’s memory.

“I had to see you again.” The person extended a slender, white hand, and cupped Alfred’s cheek. He had slim, delicate fingers. “I… _had_ to. You saved me. You took me from the darkness, and brought me into the light.” His gaze softened. “There’s something I want to say to you. It’s something I’ve been waiting to say for ten long years. Now…I finally have the chance.”

Slowly, achingly, Alfred began to remember. He remembered crochet hooks, and the strains of Japanese music floating across the room. He remembered a new pair of pyjamas, and the sound of bare feet crossing the cool tiles. He remembered the smell of bacon sizzling on the pan, the taste of homecooked fried rice, and the gentle sound of someone calling his name. The rain swayed in his memories, and a pair of brown eyes gazed at him through a watery veil. That person liked being clean, and tilted his head when he was confused. That person could soak in the bath for an hour, and was polite even in the strangest situations. When he smiled, it was like the sunlight had fallen lovingly on his face. When he laughed, it was like a bell ringing in the warm summer breeze.

Ten years ago, Alfred had rescued an injured fox.

“Thank you,” whispered Chrysanthemum.

His eyes were swimming with tears.

The world exploded with light. It was so bright that Alfred had to squeeze his eyes shut, so bright that it seared his closed eyelids. He heard the crackle of flames, felt a blistering heat inches from his skin, surrounding him, engulfing him in its fiery embrace –

And then there was nothing.

The sky was blue when Alfred opened his eyes. He struggled to his feet, wincing as the morning sunlight caught him in the face. Softly, the rain pattered on the twisted wreck that had once been his car. He raised his head. The rainwater kissed his lips.

He knew what it felt like to be saved.  
  


* * *

  
_The Fox_  
  


The windshield wipers skidded across the wet windscreen.

Alfred squinted at the wobbly film of rain before him, struggling to peer at the dark road ahead. He shivered – the A/C was too high, it had to be. Alfred swung at the controls and missed. His father glanced at him, and turned it down in his stead.

They were on their way to Alfred’s uncle’s wedding in Houston. Upon learning that Alfred’s father would be present, Alfred’s grandfather had promptly refused to show up – but that hadn’t mattered to Alfred’s uncles. After all, thought Alfred, _they_ were real family. Real family, who didn’t make his father cry.

He twisted in his seat, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Matthew. His brother was curled up on the backseat in an odd, cramped ball – clearly, he’d been struggling to find a comfortable sleeping position that could accommodate his seatbelt. Alfred laughed. His father shushed him. “Go to sleep, Alfred,” he said softly.

That particular morning, the suggestion inspired Alfred to do the exact opposite. He rubbed his eyes, sat up straight, and stared at the road. The rain was pounding harder than ever, tearing at the tarmac and making the world disappear in a haze of browns and greys. In this dire situation, thought Alfred, he would be his father’s sidekick – his second pair of eyes. He grinned. He pulled at his seatbelt and slid to the edge of his seat, leaning forward, searching, watching, waiting –

A small lump lying in the middle of the road, cast entirely in shadow, slowly grew larger in the swaying rain.  
  


* * *

  
It was raining when they met for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> Cultural Notes
> 
> 1\. Kiku’s name means Chrysanthemum.
> 
> 2\. I used sun-related imagery for Kiku because Japan is the country of the rising sun, and one of their most popular deities is the sun goddess Amaterasu. 
> 
> 3\. I associated sunshowers with Kiku (in Alfred’s dream and when Kiku disappears). In Japan, sunshowers (rain when the sun is shining) are also known as Kitsune Weddings. It’s said that sunshowers appear when kitsune get married. While there’s no literal marriage in this fic, sunshowers appear in pivotal moments where Alfred and Kiku are really connected with each other.


End file.
